Page 12 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

CHAPTER NINE

VITALE

“ N on ci si può fidare di Gino.”

I strolled into the kitchen to Mamma’s lamenting. One of the few things that Mamma loved was to lament. But then again, so did all the Mammas in Sicily.

Sergio’s annoyed glance from across the table told me I shouldn’t ask.

So I didn’t. Walking over to the espresso machine set in the corner against the window, I switched it on to drown out her voice.

Didn’t want to know why she couldn’t rely on Gino, didn’t care.

I had a million things to do. Like sign a marriage contract to keep the Albanians off my back.

“Non chiede mai niente. L'unica cosa che mi ha chiesto, non riesco a farla.”

My ears perked up just as the grinding of the beans stopped.

Well, who never asked for anything? Not Lia.

She was full of wants, like any spoilt brat.

I want this, I want that. Lazily with the espresso in my hand, I turned to find Mamma banging a pot angrily on the stove with her back to me.

I cocked my brow at Sergio, but he only shrugged his shoulders with a wicked grin. Oh, he knows.

“Who didn’t ask for anything, Mamma?”

Another pot banged on the stove before she turned around. “Ahana.”

Bingo. Just what I’d thought. What did the runaway girl want? I leaned my hip on the small table behind me and carried a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “So, what couldn’t you get done for her?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to bother you with my problems.” The aluminium foil she was rustling to put on her tray grated on my nerves as much as her words. Why was she asking her cousin’s son to do things for her when she had her own?

“ Ridicolo. Now tell me what the problem is so I can fix it.”

“She just wants a lock on her door—” I almost choked on my espresso, “And Gino said he’ll do it, but two days have passed and he’s nowhere to be seen.

I have half a mind to pull his ear and drag him to his mamma.

You know, I cleaned his shit when he was small, vero ?

You’d think there was some kind of gratefulness. ”

So, the runaway girl wanted to shut down my new addiction. Her. On a bed.

“Why does she want a lock?”

Sergio’s tone was wicked. I turned to find him mouthing, ‘what did you do’ to me. I scowled. None of his fucking business.

Mamma almost growled from behind the counter. “I’m telling Fiorella that her only son is an idiot. I told her she shouldn’t eat pineapple when she was pregnant.” Her glare made Sergio squirm with unease. Only Mamma could get a thirty-year-old underboss nervous.

“Leave Zia Fiorella out of it, Mamma.”

“Well, what else am I to do? Idiota .” She banged the tray down. “Only an idiot would want to know why she would want a lock.” My neck burned. Had she told Mamma? “If she feels more comfortable with a lock on her door, I’m not going to be the one to argue.” Such a good girl. My runaway girl.

I stepped away from the table with my empty cup in my hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

She sighed heavily. “I don’t want to bother you with little things, figlio mio .”

Oh, this wasn’t little. Walking to the counter, I dropped the cup next to her. “Nothing little about it if she wants to feel safe. It’ll be done within the hour.”

It took me fifteen minutes to have the locksmith in the house. I didn’t even have to threaten the man, but I guess he took it as a threat when I called him. Fifteen minutes later, he stood in my library, out of breath and with tools jiggling in his hands.

I kept him trembling on his toes for another fifteen. He assumed I was mad at him. Not my problem. His. I was merely biding my time until the runaway girl went down for lunch.

Then I took him with me to get the job done.

His hand shook like he was holding an electric drill.

Not an ancient screwdriver that might have belonged to Caesar.

I didn’t even raise my voice. Not my fault that people get intimidated by me.

Still, I didn’t want him to do a shoddy job, so I let him be and walked around in her room.

Opened a drawer, checked out her underwear, all fucking lace and satin , peeped in her shower, nicked a tiny sample of a perfume that had Frangipani written all over it. All because I was bored. Nothing else.

By the time I strolled back into the room, the door had a brass lock and key in it, and the shaky hands were still intact.

Just like that. The job was done within the hour. She asked. I obeyed. She would be happy. A smile tugged on my lips, scaring the man trembling before me. A hum of satisfaction coursed through my body as I pocketed the spare key. She only wanted a lock.

Annoyance grated under my skin when I strolled into the kitchen. It was like a sardine can in here. Overflowing with uninvited people. Privacy or some alone time with a certain sexy nemesis was hard to find in this place.

“What’s the scowl for, nipote ?”

‘Nephew’ grated on my skin as smoothly as hard old cheese on a wartime grater. Of all my uncles, Endrigo annoyed me the most. He was like an infected wound full of pus.

I ignored him and took my seat. The one at the head of the table.

Coincidentally, right across from her chair on the other end.

Her head was tipped as she listened intently to something another one of my cousins, Anna, was telling her.

She was a sweet girl, Endrigo’s eldest, but couldn’t be that interesting because runaway girl was clearly not listening to a word.

The tight line on her shoulder and her hand absently circling her wrist told me she was remembering another time, another place, perhaps another voice whispered to her.

“Have you signed it now?” Fucking Endrigo. He was put on earth for the sole purpose of getting on my nerves.

“No,” I bit out, my gaze on something black, long and silky. She’d let go of her hand to run her fingers through her hair. The way she was fingering it made me feel like it was right between my legs, grazing along my inner thigh.

“You better get to it, son.” Son? I wasn’t his son.

Of all of Carlo’s brothers, he resembled Carlo the most. But this one not only disrespected his wife by fucking around, but he had to go and fuck his sister-in-law.

I looked at him to find his sleezy gaze on my aunt.

Not his wife. But Zia Marana. Marco’s wife.

Infidelity ran so thick and dense in this family, I couldn’t pull it apart without pulling the family apart.

“I’m not your son, and I’ll get to it when I do.”

His eyes skidded back to me at my sharp tone.

Indecision crossed his face. He couldn’t tell if I was angry or simply annoyed.

That was his first mistake. Neither was a good idea when it came to me.

He would have known that if he hadn’t been fucking his sister-in-law.

Mamma put the plate of warm spaghetti in front of me. “Did you get it done?”

“Fuck’s sake, Ada, can’t you see we are in the middle of a convo?”

Her actions had been normal, his loud and bombastic. Unnecessary. The room thinned in volume, but the ringing in my ears screamed. My skin bristled like that open wound had burst. He melted at my death glare. Second mistake. No one gets to disrespect Mamma. “We were talking,” he mumbled.

“We were done.” My light tone betrayed the heat behind it. I brought my glance to Mamma. She looked startled. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Endrigo’s tone or my defence. I hoped it was the former because she should know I would always have her back. “It’s done, Mamma,” I told her softly.

“Grazie, figlio mio.”

I nodded and brought my glare to the annoyance to my left and found his beady eyes on something across from me.

Someone across from me. Disgust scraped along my spine like an icy knife to my veins.

Something dark slithered into my chest. I didn’t like his eyes on her.

My nostrils flared even as I tried to calm down.

The burn from across the table made me shift my focus to her to find hers on my hand. The one clenched around my fork.

Third fucking mistake. Going after what was mine.